


Sword and Sorcery

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Series: Sword and Sorcery [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-19
Updated: 2006-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Austen meets magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword and Sorcery

Bingálfr the ex-Barbarian was a very happy man. From humble, if respectable, beginnings in the North -- last of a long line of Artificers -- he had risen to a Master, always acceptable at the _ton_ ’s parties, although on sufferance. It was never to be forgotten that his skills were not innate and inherited, but achieved through work and preparation. Nevertheless they were considerable, whatever their origins.  He was tolerated and the families of several declined mages would have been glad to have him or his sisters among them.

Thinking of his considerable good fortune, Bingálfr was taken by surprise when something large, long, and wooden (later determined to be a club) whacked him upside the head. He was not a Barbarian -- _ex-Barbarian_ , he reminded himself -- for nothing, however. He withstood the blow and fiercely defended his honour and purse. The assailant took one look at the fury in Bingálfr’s usually tranquil brown eyes, and fled, dropping his weapon. Bingálfr gave a shout of triumph, then recalled his location and head injury, and fainted.

A few moments later, Bingálfr blinked and struggled to sit upright, clutching at his head.

'Stop moving,' the blur above him said. He did not know the voice, but there was something in it -- a resonance, an icy precision, as if the owner of the voice had never spoken a word without being absolutely certain that it was exactly the word he wanted. He knew he had heard that resonance before. Not in this voice, but --

Bingálfr considered himself usually to be a brave man -- or a stupid one, but in any case it was more or less the same thing -- but at this sudden realisation, he gave a little whimper, and shut his eyes tightly. ‘Please kill me quickly,’ he said.

The archmage -- for that is what he was -- said nothing, and Bingálfr inched an eyelid open. The other man, who might or might not have been older than he, was crouched beside him, rocking back on his heels, with a distinctly amused expression on his face.

‘I am not in the business of killing random passers-by for fun and profit,’ he remarked, then snapped his fingers. A slab of ice appeared in his hand, which he held out to Bingálfr.

‘Are you going to ensorcell me?’ he replied suspiciously, eyeing him warily. The archmage sighed.

‘Put it on your eye. It will reduce the swelling.’


End file.
